The Victim's Stories
by Yosuke
Summary: Misaki has never really fit into Akihiko Usami's social circles, and he was okay with that, until terrible acts of discrimination started surfacing in his life and threatened not only his relationship but his lover's career as well. Rated for sexual content, language, some angst and suffering.
1. The Story Of The Coat Check Ticket

The Victim's Stories  
Yosuke

AN: This was meant to be a little one-shot but it turned into a huge endeavor with multiple chapters. I hate how ambitious some plots turn out to be.

JR not mine.

* * *

Those strange stories that start nearest to its finale have always been something of a pain to most audiences, yet at the same time oddly relieving, giving a viewer an interesting yet brief glimpse into the future while the pain of the mystery of an untold story dance ever so mockingly on the stage.

This story shall be no different, for we start in a jail cell, containing one inhabitant: Misaki Takahashi.

Yeah, that's right. We're starting with me, Misaki, so close to my uncomfortable ending I can almost taste it. I don't know what waits for me at the other end of this day, but I'm sure as hell not looking forward to it. I've stepped on so many toes these past few days that I can't even begin to dream of some reprieve arriving anytime soon.

I suppose, of all the people I can think of off the top of my head, I might be the last person anyone would suspect of winding up in a jail cell, chilly, hungry, and far from sleepy. Any peculiar audience that might witness this story, or hear of it one day, would obviously wonder how it is I, Misaki Takahashi, quiet, wide-eyed college student who never received _any_ kind of reprimanding in his whole life from either his parents or his brother, let alone a police officer, wound up in the district prison for one night (Yes, only one night. Not the hardest sentence anyone has ever served, but devastating to me nonetheless. Sumi will never let me live this down!)

My story involves a coat check ticket, an awkward cab ride, a cigarette vending machine, and an unreasonably sturdy umbrella.

Let's begin, I suppose.

* * *

**[THE STORY OF THE COAT CHECK TICKET]**

* * *

It was late August and the great Akihiko Usami had very recently been the recipient of some kind of bestseller's award (for the life of me, I wish I could remember what it was called, but his work had been glorified by award ceremonies so often that it was hard to keep track of them all). It was a black tie event with champagne flutes and fancy cheeses floating around so swiftly I almost thought the servers to be ghosts of some kind.

Naturally, Usagi had been reluctant to attend at all, and I practically had to dress him myself and push him into his own car. He hated those events, he always did, and it wasn't something I necessarily understood, but I knew if so many people were going through the trouble of celebrating his hard work, then he needed to be there, at least to appease some smiling faces.

I hadn't been on the invitation, which I expected and wasn't too disappointed with. Formal gatherings had never been my strong suit, and I was always too awkward around "grown-ups". But Usagi had refused to go unless I attended as well, and in my haste I managed to gather a decent suit, something from the back of my closet, and climbed into the car with my mentor. Needless to say, he drove about ten under the speed limit, not at all excited about being punctual.

Once we'd arrived, Usagi was tugged this way and that by drooling women entranced by his handsome face and previous writing (a part of me wondered strongly if any of those ladies had read his _other_ work, namely the ones with my own desecrated name plastered all over the pages in a frenzy of smut and humiliation). I had only shivered at the thought and watched the room absently as Usagi was again pulled into another conversation by rival authors. Everyone in the room, a large ballroom of an extremely overpriced hotel, was immaculate, wearing clean-cut tuxedos and cleavage-bearing dresses. Jewelry glittered across the attendees like stars and soft music wafted over everyone's perfectly combed heads.

Part of me began to realize why it was Usagi didn't like these events; it was kind of dull. If you didn't know anyone, you didn't have much to do. I, for the most part, hung out in a corner with a glass of something fizzy and tart, trying to look as harmless as possible. One hand stayed in my pocket, worrying the small paper tab that my coat check ticket.

My eyes had once again found my mentor, caught helplessly in what appeared to be the most boring conversation on earth, his eyes glazed over and a forced smile on his lips. I chuckled a little to myself. Poor Usagi was going to drop to the floor in unconsciousness in a moment if someone didn't entertain him somehow. This, ultimately, sent a cold shiver up my spine. Usagi would probably resort to me to entertain him. I knew him, and based on everything he'd ever done, I could surely expect to be yanked into a men's bathroom with the lock secured good and tight, or into a waiting hotel room he conveniently would have reserved for _entertainment_. I swallowed hard at the thought. I was going to get raped tonight, to both lighten his mood and to punish me for making him leave the condo in the first place.

As I contemplated different back pains I could fake for the sake of getting out of another night of awkward perversions, I had faintly begun to notice sets of eyes glancing over at me. Random people, all beautifully dressed with an air of swollen egotism, were briefly glimpsing in my direction, looking me up and down in what I could only describe as disdain before returning to their socializations.

Of course I was confused a bit, but once I took a look at myself I realized it wasn't too hard to figure out why it was I was earning these glares. Compared to the rest of the room, I was a dust bunny. My suit was old, frayed at the sleeves and a rather unattractive brown color, something more akin to backyard weddings or small claims court. I had managed to iron it before leaving, but that was probably the only saving grace of it. My hair must have been messy, too. Heat tinged my cheeks as I had come to the realization that I must have looked so out of place, a peasant amongst royalty. The buffet table was better dressed than I.

I tried to make myself look smaller then, pressing into the corner and hiding my face partially behind my champagne flute. I began to _hope_ that Usagi would want to pull me away into the aforementioned hormone-driven indulgence of a hotel room. If it meant I could leave that party, I would even actively participate in that lusty romp.

About twenty minutes or so had passed by and the only one who became oblivious to my presence was me. It felt like I weren't even in the room anymore, but watching a terrible television program with no plot and no character development. I was so out of it I almost didn't notice the well-groomed couple approaching to my right. Once I did manage to register them in my vision, I turned to face them just as they stopped in front of me.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," spoke the woman, a tall brunette in a figure-forming blue gown and diamonds in her hair. "Didn't you arrive here with our guest of honor?"

I had to think the question over a few times before my mind allowed me to answer. "Y-Yeah, I came here with Usagi."

"Usagi!" the woman squealed, clapping her gloved hands together once and lightly elbowing her suitor, an even taller man in a perfectly pressed suit who appeared at least ten years younger than the woman on his arm. Her eyes danced over me as the mirth slowly faded. "That's adorable! To think the prestigious Akihiko Usami gets such a childish petname!"

"It's..." I tried to explain myself, but the words just wouldn't surface.

"And what does he call you? _'Son'_?"

_Son?_

"Or perhaps something more fitting, like _'Gold digger'_?"

_Gold... digger?_

But before I could inquire as to what they had meant, the two sauntered away, snickering to themselves and leaving me dumbfounded in my spot. Son? Our age difference wasn't _that_ big. It was only a ten year difference... Just... ten years...

Wow. When I thought about it, it _was_ a lot bigger than I had assumed. But gold digger? No way! I never asked Usagi for anything! He always indulged me of his own accord, and I always refused whatever he tried to splurge on me! They couldn't possibly think I was some cheap arm candy pumping money from a wealthy lover! That was ludicrous!

But the continuing glances I got from passing party-goers told me that it was _exactly_ that. But should I have been surprised? Usagi and I hadn't been very affectionate in public before, and I only made myself known to his closest piers. I could only assume he didn't rant about me to other people. Of course he wouldn't; why risk "enticing" someone to come and steal me away with endearing stories and descriptions of the person he adored most (as creepy as that was sometimes)?

I heard a chuckle right in front me and quickly pulled myself out of my thoughts to see another woman, this one younger with glorious blonde hair and a low-cut, sparkly black dress before me. She peered down her nose at me, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

"To think I was ignored by such a handsome man as Akihiko Usami only to be beaten by some kink escort. I guess you've gotta be pretty good on your knees for Mr. Usami to be so... _confused_."

Confused? Usagi wasn't confused. He'd been into guys for years. If there'd been any confusion for him, I was certain he would have cleared it all up with one look at this lady's protruding bosom. But as her and her bouncing chest bounced away into the night, I was suddenly struck again by what I'd heard. Kink escort? _Kink escort?_ These people thought I was a male prostitute?

Anger had started to simmer in my veins as the temperature in the room climbed. All of those people were looking at me with such contempt because they thought I was a some impecunious, poisonous whore that had _confused_ Akihiko Usami into bed with another man for money. The anger and embarrassment had built up so high that, out of habit, tears began to swell behind my eyes and a painful lump developed in my throat. How mortifying. All of those people, all of them that knew Usagi, thought I was a prostitute. There was no recovery from that. Usagi could've stood on a stage with a microphone and given a grand speech to correct them, but the image would always be there as a horrifying stain. I was Akihiko Usami's whore. And that was that.

As if on cue, another stranger approached, this one a man with an air of importance to him and a distractingly bald head. I imagined he helped to run the whole event of the night.

"I beg your pardon, but you are Mr. Usami's escort, correct?"

"I'm not an escort," I practically breathed out, but I didn't think he heard me.

"I do apologize, but some of the other guests tonight have expressed concern over your presence, as someone with your particular... _career choice_... is not appropriate for the atmosphere of this dignified event. And as it appears that you were not on the invitation list, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave. We have several very wealthy and very important contributors to our association here tonight, and your being here upsets them quite a bit. Now, if I may show you the door, sir?"

He had said it all in one breath but didn't look winded in the least, an arm gesturing in the direction of the exit. I had nothing to say in response, too shocked by what I had heard and still too upset over being called a prostitute. What would Usagi say when he found out? Did he know that was what his piers thought of me? He... he hadn't started the rumor himself, had he? Was this his way of dumping me?

'No,' I shook my head. 'He wouldn't do that. He said he loves me. He wouldn't dump me right out of the blue like this. It's just these snobby people. It's just their narrow-mindedness.'

Clearing my throat and fighting back the tears of humiliation, I held up a hand to decline the man's offer. "Thanks, but I can show myself out. I just need to get my coat and I'll be out of here, okay?"

The man nodded, oddly polite for being one of the narrow-minded crowd, and stepped back, eyes watching me carefully as I drifted lifelessly to the coat check counter, my body numb but my heart in pain. I had hoped viciously that whatever rumors were circling that night wouldn't cause any disturbances to Usagi's reputation. He didn't need that. He was doing so well for himself, the last thing he needed was for me to bring him down.

Swallowing against the lump in my throat, I handed my ticket to the lady behind the counter, who stared directly at me with the same icy glare I'd received all night. Oh, crap. Not her, too.

"My coat, please," I said hoarsely, and she remarked me with a smug smile.

"Sorry, can't find it. Must've lost it."

I stared at her in dumbfounded shock. Really? I was getting bullied when I was trying to leave? Who were these people?

"You haven't even looked. I'm number 72, can't you at least try looking for it?"

"Already did. It's not here. But tell ya what, if we do find it, we'll mail it to your place. Oh! I mean, Mr. Usami's place. You do live there, right? At the foot of his bed, in a pile of his money?"

The heat that swallowed my face was enough of a response for the woman, who laughed and took my ticket from me, crumpling it in her fist and dropping it at her feet. "Have a pleasant night, Mr. 72. Remember to shower when you're done." And just like that, the conversation was over, the woman returning to a professional stance, smiling and bowing her head respectfully to passing guests.

I could only stare in horror, my jaw slack and my mind unsure of what to do with my own body. There was nothing I could do about any of it, any of the names I'd been called or my usurped coat. I could've started ranting and raving, climbing the counter and demanding my property be returned to me, but what would that have done? If anything, I was certain men with curly wires connecting their ear to their coat lapels would be on me in an instant, shoving me out the door and furthering my embarrassment.

With my dignity shredded and my lover lost somewhere in the throngs of arrogance and ignorance, I sniffled and angled a hand to shield my face as I walked quietly to the exit, aware of the eyes watching me as I left. Idly, I wondered how long it would take before Usagi would notice I was gone, or if he would question anyone as to my whereabouts.

I had walked home after that, which was quite a distance considering we'd had to drive to the party initially. It had taken me thirty minutes to get back to the condo, at which point I had deemed it safe to look at my cell phone. There were thirteen missed calls and thirteen voicemails from Usagi. I had only sighed and texted him back, _[Felt sick, went home. Sorry. I'll have something ready to eat by the time you get here. How's the party going for you?]_

Only a minute passed before I received a responding text, but I didn't read it. I was too embarrassed by the evening, too horrified by the rumors circling, too upset from being kicked out of a party when I'd only stood in the corner and kept to myself. Would Usagi be humiliated when he found out? What would he think about his piers assuming he needed a prostitute just for some extra kink in the bedroom? Would he be mad at me?

I couldn't fathom anything. I didn't want to feel anything anymore that night, and quickly set to starting a late dinner for my tutor, barely aware that I was crying like a baby the whole time.

I did eventually see my coat again. A week later it had been mailed to the condo in a large brown box. Usagi had been locked away in his office, working, so I had the privacy to open it without him snooping about, wondering who it was from. Then again, even if he'd asked, I wouldn't have been able to tell, as there was no return address.

Once I'd opened it up and found the coat, I could only sigh in exhaustion. My coat, a lovely black cashmere thing Usagi had bought me on a date one night, was decorated with blue and red paint. The sleeves had been sliced open long-ways along the seam and the buttons had all been ripped off along with the waist pockets. For an added effect, the crumpled paper ticket with the bold numbers '72' was pinned to the blue-speckled lapel with an office staple.

Rubbing at the corner of my eye to ease an oncoming twitch, I stuffed the coat back into the box and replaced the tape, tearing the paper with my address on top of the box clean off, then I gathered the whole thing in my arms and went to the trash chute to dump the evidence, hoping that the horrors of my memories of that awful night would go with it.

* * *

To be continued.


	2. The Story Of The Awkward Cab Ride

The Victim's Stories  
Yosuke

* * *

Usagi never did find out about the shredded coat. I suppose he had been curious at one point when I'd donned an old blue sweater for an evening out one night, and I'd only mumbled "I think I lost my black coat at school. Sorry." He accepted that and bought me a new one, this one white cashmere with gold buttons. A little feminine, but oh, so warm!

Whether or not he had been aware of the names I'd been called at the party, or why I'd actually left, I didn't know and preferred it that way. I'd have much rather kept that embarrassment to myself.

That brings us back to my lovely little jail cell, thankfully lonely and boring. There are no bars, like I expected. It's just a little room with a bench, stark white tiles, cream-colored walls and a steel door with a tiny window and a little slot I suspect isn't exactly for mail.

My fingers rub at the sore spot on my wrists where handcuffs had bound me earlier. It was an uncomfortable feeling, being restrained that way. Usagi had tried it before in the bedroom, and I think that's the only time I could handle it, when I knew I was in his capable hands.

My face feels hot at the perverted thought and I try to let it slip by with the night as I recall the next arc in my awful story.

* * *

**[THE STORY OF THE AWKWARD CAB RIDE]**

* * *

About three weeks after I'd received the disemboweled coat in the mail, I had found that my thoughts weren't quite so heavily interrupted by the memories of that terrible night at Usagi's award party. I was back to my normal routine and ready to move on with my life. So what if all of Usagi's jerk friends thought I was some kind of male prostitute? No skin off my nose, they could think what they want. It shouldn't have affected me in the least. Sticks and stones, as they say.

I was on my way to class, one earbud in and a lovely cello piece playing softly somewhere within my attention span, as I was suddenly overcome by a faint shiver of alert. It was the same feeling I got when I sat on the couch, minding my own business, suddenly to find my mentor's eyes raking over my body shamelessly. I hated that feeling, it was disturbing and prying.

Biting my lip, I had quickly turned to look behind me, but save for one old couple at a bus stop and a notably sleepy high school student stumbling a few feet behind me with a thermos in his hand, there was no one. I tried to brush it off, but the feeling persisted all the way to my campus and to class. I had expected the feeling to dissolve after a while, especially once I gazed around the room and didn't see a single person watching me, at least with the same intensity as Usagi did, but it wouldn't shake and I carried it all the way to my next class, to lunch, to the men's room, to another class, to a study session with Sumi, and right back out the front doors of the school.

By that point I was sweating bullets, irrationality grasping tight as my frenzied brain gradually began to assume that Usagi would soon jump out from behind a bush and hump my brains out right there on the sidewalk. But it couldn't have been that. Even if, somehow, Usagi had been the one following me all day, there was no way in any form of reality that he would have the patience and self-control to wait so many hours just to stalk me and then have his way with me. He could be twisted and play his little games, but they never reached quite that far.

So I was back to square one, and so uncomfortable in my own skin at that point that I had finally conceded to an option I never wanted to do: Call Usagi. I was certain the moment I told him I thought I was being followed or in any kind of danger, he would rush in on horseback with a sword drawn, ready to fight off the baddies.

The hilarious imagery almost cheered me right up as I pulled out my cell phone, but quickly, almost too quickly, as if alerted by the chance that I was about to get away, a black car with deeply tinted windows and a shimmering hood ornament for a foreign car company I'd never been able to pronounce squealed to a halt beside me. I was so startled I dropped my phone, forgetting it almost immediately as a man rushed from the front passenger side, tall, suited, and trimmed up nicely, to the rear driver side door, opening it quickly and letting out an equally tall and very familiar woman.

My heart sank as the blonde deity from the award party approached me on the sidewalk, her glorious yellow hair spilling out over her shoulders and chest, which in turn spilled out from over her low-cut, tight white blouse. Expensive sunglasses obscured her eyes, which was something I was thankful for. Last I heard, chicks like this could turn people into stone just by looking at them.

"So," she began, drawing her glasses off her face to press the tip of one stem against her full, shiny bottom lip. "Mr. Usami's little helper is a college student."

A few different questions fought to be asked in my head like a classroom full of curious ten-year-olds, and slowly one bubbled to the surface, slurring on my lips.

"Were you following me?" Stupid question, of course she had been. Hadn't I been feeling it all day?

A cynical laugh elicited from her smug mouth, one hand sitting firmly on her hip. "Oh, so you _did_ notice. I thought Tetsuo had managed to have been a little more subtle than that." Quickly, she shot a disapproving, almost murderous glare out of the corner of her eye towards the suited man who had opened her door for her. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but I could easily tell by the sheepish twitch of his shoulders and a slight bow of the head that he was ashamed of himself. Poor Tetsuo. She must've paid him well for him to take such abuse.

My eyes found the gleaming blonde hair again as she folded her glasses and hooked them to the front of her shirt, further pulling the fabric to show half an inch more cleavage.

"I suppose we weren't properly introduced at the party. My name is Ikuko Sakurabi, of Sakurabi Digital Industries. The job description is long and complicated, so I'll shorten it down for you: Basically, Mr. Usami wouldn't be able to print his books without me."

Again the questions shuffled around in my head, but my next response was automatic.

"Misaki Takahashi."

"I know who you are," she almost spat, but quickly corrected herself as if she'd previously promised herself not to get brash. An innocent smile came across her face. "I know we got off on the wrong foot at the party, so I was hoping to sit down and have a talk with you. Get to know each other. Share common interests, like..."

"...Usagi?" It came out before I could stop it, and I regretted it instantly once I saw the sly smile light up her face.

"Yes. Mr. Usami, for instance. Why don't you join me for a chat? I'll drive you back to Mr. Usami's place and we can talk on the way there."

Air-raid sirens blared in my head, and an imaginary version of myself danced into my sight, waving red flags and screaming through a bullhorn. Averting my eyes, I took a step back.

"N-No, I'd rather not, if it's all the same. I've got errands to run. I gotta make dinner for Usagi tonight."

"Come on, one little car ride can't hurt. Just to talk." She moved straight to me then, putting a perfectly-manicured hand on my shoulder lightly. "How about if we got a cab instead? I can understand if riding in a stranger's car seems a little scary." She whipped her head around and waved her arm once angrily towards Tetsuo, who quickly clambered into the car, which sped off down the block and out of sight. I strangely enough felt a little better.

I'm not sure at what point I agreed, but within moments a cab had pulled around the corner and I was in it, seated very uncomfortably and nearly breathlessly next to Ms. Sakurabi. She was angled in the corner of the seat against it and the door, no seat belt, one leg resting across the other as she stared intently at me. I couldn't even begin to imagine what she was thinking. I, for the most part, sat on the edge of my seat as close to the door as I could, gripping the pleather cushioning and trying not to look nervous but failing miserably.

After a few moments, I heard her lips part as she would to speak. I glimpsed over at her from the corner of my eye.

"There's no need to be nervous, Mr. Takahashi... Can I call you Misaki?"

No way in hell.

"Sure."

"Wonderful. Now, Misaki, if I could just discuss a few little things with you, just menial things, nothing to worry about..."

Too late for that.

She leaned in closer, one fingernail scraping along the shoulder of my new coat almost in appreciation. "Sakurabi Digital Industries, to be honest, hasn't been doing so well recently, and we're holding on to every client we can. Mr. Usami has been a hard worker and a generous donor."

"I thought Marukawa Publishing printed Usagi's books."

"They do." She leaned back, a look in her that suggested she was slightly impressed that I had known that. "But Marukawa's resources come from us, from the paper they print on to the websites they advertise on. Like I said, Mr. Usami wouldn't be able to print his books without us."

Understanding settled in, and I nodded dumbly. She continued.

"Now every so often, my company likes to invest a bit of money into promising authors, much like how one invests money in a stock. In the end, we hope that it pays off, and when it does, all the money we throw towards the author is returned with interest. We make a little money, our reputation goes up, and the company stays afloat for a minimum of another year."

"I see." Where was she going with this?

"Mr. Usami is a brilliant author, and we saw promise in him right from the start. So we invested our money in him. Last year, his profits at Marukawa were phenomenal, and we were rewarded as well. The thing is," she drifted off, her eyes narrowing accusingly at me. "Over the past year, Mr. Usami's workflow has declined quite a bit. We haven't seen nearly as much productivity from him as we used to. And I have to wonder... Is it because of any distractions?"

I finally saw the light in the conversation, and I didn't like it one bit. I knew exactly where she was getting at, and I tried to prepare a rebuttal to challenge her with.

"Misaki, Mr. Usami is a dear client to us, and we appreciate all the work he does, but if there's something stifling his creativity, we have to snuff that out now."

I didn't like the word "snuff" falling from her lips.

"And I think that something is you, Misaki."

"I..." I started, my challenge dying in my throat. "I don't understand..."

"What I'm saying is that the solution to this problem is simple enough." She leaned back in again, blonde hair spilling forward to perfectly frame her cleavage, which I almost dared assumed was intentional. "I want you to move out of Mr. Usami's place and get out of his life."

The demand came as a shock, though I had expected to hear it the moment she'd said the word "distractions". My mouth gaped a few times like a dying fish, unsure if it should breathe or speak.

"I... I can't do that..."

A glint of disappointment was in her eyes as she leaned back again, staring down her nose at me in pure disdain.

"And why is that?"

Because Usagi was my tutor. Because he would be helpless without me cooking and cleaning for him, or making sure he got out of bed in a timely manner, or to remind him to turn the bathtub faucet off before the whole room flooded. Because he took care of me when I was sick, even though he sucked at it, and he could always tell when I was feeling lonely, even though his usual remedy for that consisted of hardcore sexual molestation.

Because... I liked the way he made love to me, despite how much I told him I hated it, and how he kissed me even though I was burning with embarrassment, and when he told me he loved me fifteen times in a row.

"Because... he can't can't feed himself."

Her sharp laughter brought me back down to the reality inside that suddenly so awkward cab ride, my fingers rubbing nervously against the seat cushions in hopes that I could somehow dissolve through the car and away from that awful woman. But her persisting glare told me that I was nowhere near accomplishing that.

"Misaki, let me be frank: You are a complication in his workflow, a tumor in his home that needs to be removed. Perhaps if you understood how much money was riding on this _one_ man, you'd be able to comprehend the situation a little better, but you can't, and it's creating great difficulties for everyone. I don't know how much money Mr. Usami pays you to sleep with him, but whatever that number is, I can double it if you just leave."

Oh, no. We were back to this. I bit my lip to keep from yelling. "I'm not a prostitute. He doesn't give me money." I braced myself for the next admittance. "I sleep with him of my own free will."

"That doesn't seem to be the popular rumor, now does it?" Ms. Sakurabi sneered at me, her fingers once again brushing the sleeve of my cashmere coat as flashbacks of the horrible party resurfaced in my head. "By the way, this coat is just gorgeous."

I gritted my teeth, eyes falling to my feet.

"But... what happened to your old one?"

And my gaze shot right back up to meet her icy eyes, a pretentious smile pulling one side of her mouth up as the insinuation struck me deep. That whole mess was turning into one intricately designed web that I was stuck helplessly in.

"Misaki, let me be completely clear with you. You are obstructing my client, and in my line of work, obstructions are dealt with swiftly and quietly. Leave Mr. Usami. Give him a chance to find his pace of work again so everyone can continue with their jobs, and stop... _confusing_ him."

My previous anger shifted to the back of my brain for a moment as I eyed her speculatively. "Confusing him?"

"I told you at the party, I didn't like that I was passed up for a kink escort. I've had my eye on Mr. Usami for a while, but then some fag strolls in and snatches him up? I'm afraid that's not something I'm prepared to deal with. I'm a powerful woman, and I always get what I want." She flipped a lock of golden hair over her shoulder, eyebrows raised in a challenging manner as the whole course of the conversation, from the moment we'd entered the car, settled uncomfortably inside me, the gravity of it all too strenuous as I sank back against the car door, eyes unfocused and hardly aware of my own breathing.

"I can't leave him."

"I'm afraid you will, Misaki," she chided confidently, and before I knew it, I was falling backwards, my head smacking into the hard pavement of the road, my legs flying up over me as I toppled gracelessly out of the car. When I could next see, Tetsuo made his way into my vision, his hand on the handle of the door I had been half-lying against. From inside the car, I heard a witch cackle.

"Please consider everything carefully, Misaki. I like to play dirty, so don't give me the opportunity to, for your own sake."

And then they were all gone, me still lying on the pavement of the drive-around in front of Usagi's building, my head achy and my heart confused. _Fag? Distraction? Obstruction? Play dirty?_

I'm not sure how long I had lain there, considering everything, wondering what I could have possibly done to deserve such bad luck and whether or not Usagi should've been told about any of this, but I immediately knew all the consequences that would arise if he did find out. He would pull his name as far away from Sakurabi Digital Industries as he could get, which would subsequently mean he'd have to withdraw from Marukawa Publishing. He would basically be jobless, and though I was certain he would get snatched up by any other publishing company in a heartbeat, I couldn't put that kind of stress on him. He had been doing so well, with that award and the party. Who was I to take that away just because one jealous woman was making what could've possibly been empty threats?

No, Usagi didn't need to know. Ignorance is bliss. I was going to go the store, make Usagi his dinner, feign a headache from class, and turn in early. And Usagi would be the none the wiser as to who had been a part of a very awkward cab ride with me.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

AN: Pleeeeease, no criticism or questions about all the media mumbo-jumbo with Marukawa and Sakurabi Digital Industries. I don't know how that crap actually works, I was just working off of an educated guess. I doubt I'll be using the same plot again in the future, so let's just let it go; the story is already finished. I'm just taking my time posting the chapters. Thanks in advance.


	3. The Story Of The CigaretteVendingMachine

The Victim's Stories  
Yosuke

AN: I need to give AMPLE WARNING ALL CAPS TO GRAB ATTENTION READ YOU READERS - The story is about to get a little dark. This chapter contains some darker themes that aren't present in the manga/anime, therefore some of you may find it a bit uncomfortable. I kept everyone as IC as I could with the situations they are given, but I understand if some of you may find some faults with the story. Feel free to explain any errors you find in a review, or if you thought it went well for a slightly cruel chapter, let me know so I'm aware that I'm doing it right by your standards.

* * *

Usagi never found out about the cab ride. I'd always had trouble keeping secrets from him before, mainly because he's so perceptive that it was just too hard to hide anything from him. But with the amount of work he'd been doing lately, shut up in his office with nary an appearance for food or sunlight, it wasn't very difficult to keep all of the horrible information to myself.

Yes, I'd brought into consideration everything that had happened, both at the award party and in the cab with Ms. Sakurabi. My black cashmere coat had only been a small sacrifice, an example as to what could be done to me if I didn't get out of her way. The threat did scare me to some degree, but to be honest, after the hordes of Usami relatives I've had to face, the jealous ones, the ones who abducted me and locked me away, the ones who tried to get me away from Usagi with severe intimidation, I wasn't too fazed by this one woman and her sentry of an assistant. For godsake, it was just a little invested money and some rampant hormones Sakurabi had with Usagi. She wouldn't _kill_ me over it.

I had tried to plot out her next move, and all that would come to mind was the petty and evanescent threat of my prostitution rumors spreading around school. Perhaps a few doctored photos falling into the hands of teachers, winding up on the internet, posted on cork-boards. It would hurt for the moment, and I would likely have to switch over to online classes for a term, but it certainly wouldn't stop me from doing my work, from living each day like I normally did. The only hiccup would be if Usagi found out.

What if Usagi _believed_ in the prostitution thing? What if he was given some false proof by Ms. Sakurabi that I was indeed whoring myself out to other people? Or that his reputation was being demolished because of a rumor that he was keeping an escort around for kicks?

No, Usagi could be stupid sometimes, but not to that extent. He wouldn't believe it for a second. I knew him; he trusted me, and I trusted him. More than anything.

So while I sit here and pretend to know what hour at night is it, hoping it's much earlier than it in all likelihood is presently, I shall regale my imaginary audience with the third installment of my incongruous story.

* * *

**[THE STORY OF THE CIGARETTE VENDING MACHINE]**

* * *

Much to my surprise, not a single rumor had arisen at the school, and no substance of blackmail had reached my doorstep. As unnerving as it should have been, like expecting to be punched by someone who would rather have you wait and anticipate the hit, I was strangely at ease. It felt more like all of Ms. Sakurabi's threats had been empty, or perhaps she'd lost interest, or she'd found a more profitable author to occupy her time with.

It was the middle of October and I had yet to hear anything from that crazed woman, or any hint from Usagi that he was aware of the threats I'd received. I had carried on with my studies and finished out the semester, finally on a recess from college and taking a couple of weeks off of work to spend some time with family and friends. I had plans to visit Takahiro and his wife at the end of the week, but for that moment, I was cozy at home with Usagi, laying on the couch and reading a comic book I loved while my mentor unplugged the phone from the wall.

"If they call me one more time..." I barely heard him hiss. This interested me; Usagi never vocalized his gripings, instead letting them stay bottled up to simmer with agitation. I pushed myself to my elbows and looked at him from over the back of the couch.

"What's wrong, Usagi?"

"Damn SDI keeps calling every week to check on my work. It's driving me nuts."

SDI? _Sakurabi Digital Industries_. My heart leapt into my throat.

"That's... That's all they call you for?"

"Yeah," he groaned, picking up a newspaper and heading to the loveseat, picking out some interesting part to pretend to be occupied with. "They're not going to be happy with what I've got planned, though." I saw the ghost of a smile pull at his lips, and suddenly I was very nervous.

"What plans?"

"They're not pleased that I haven't been writing that much for them lately, so they're gonna be pissed when my input drops completely."

My heart nearly stopped in my chest, the comic book forgotten as it fell to the floor, the thud catching Usagi's attention as he eyed me curiously over his paper. "What's wrong with you?"

If Usagi stopped giving product for SDI to print... what would happen to me? Would they blame me? Of course they would! All of the money they had invested in Usagi would go down the drain, and Ms. Sakurabi would accuse me of influencing his decision!

My mouth was dry and I could already see big, tough Tetsuo standing over my pummeled body, but against these horrible thoughts I managed to clear my head enough to answer my lover.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just being an airhead. I don't really understand how all of those companies work, so I was just trying to figure it out." Play the dumb card. It always lures people away. "But doesn't Marukawa Publishing print your books?"

And then I was provided with the same explanation I'd received the first time around, this one somewhat lengthier and more detailed, but all things I had figured out already. It was just a distraction to keep Usagi from asking me any questions, and it worked. By the time he was finished talking, the tea he had been drinking had run out and he was then rummaging through his vest pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Unfortunately, he found none and stared in silent, rather childish disappointment down into his own lap as if pouting would produce a parent to give him what he wanted.

The look on his face was pitiful, but rather endearing and I couldn't help but sigh and smirk as I rolled off of the couch and put my book on the coffee table.

"I can run down the street for you real quick if you want another pack."

"You don't have to do that," he answered quickly, standing also and making a move for his billfold on the kitchen counter. "I can go get it."

"No, really. Let me do it." I needed to get out of there. I needed an excuse to get some fresh air. The information Usagi had provided me with about dropping SDI had devastated me on such a low level that I wasn't sure I wouldn't start hyperventilating right there in the living room. The night air would clear my head, at least a little. I smiled at Usagi. "Besides, I'm craving canned coffee. The machine next to the cigarette vendor has the best kind."

"Are you sure?" He looked skeptical; he didn't like it when I went out by myself. He was always under this weird impression that I would, at the drop of a hat, get snatched up by men in sunglasses in a black van, drugged, raped, and left on a street corner without any clothes. (At what point he seemed to think a Columbian drug cartel had started targeting me, I wasn't quite sure.)

But I had to insist, and I did, and eventually Usagi agreed and handed me a few yen bills to sufficiently pay for his cigarettes and my coffee.

Once I was outside in the icy air, it was like stepping out of the stagnant atmosphere of a doctor's office. The night was refreshing and I could finally feel a bit more at ease without the curious glare I would be getting from Usagi for the rest of the night. Hopefully, he didn't think anything of my questions.

I had to forget all about it. Ms. Sakurabi hadn't made a move, and it seemed that she wouldn't for a while. If anything, she had instead turned her full attention on Usagi, choosing to harass him instead of me, seeing as it would've probably gotten better results to milk the actual cash cow and not the awkward, littler cow the bigger cow was having sex with.

Whoa. Weird mental images.

Two blocks away, I found myself at my mentor's usual vending machine. It had a decent variety of packs, boxes, and some off-brand nicotine patches which never seemed to diminish in quantity. I quickly located his usual cancer-of-choice and bought two packs, stuffing them in my pocket.

A strange series of events happened in rapid succession after that, and to this day, I find it very hard to retell the following moments as accurately as I experienced them. I remember I had turned my head to look at the beverage vending machine I liked, the remaining yen in my hand, and suddenly the money wasn't in my grasp anymore. My head was smacked into the acrylic glass of the machine, the substance bowing around me and bouncing me back off to land on my ass on the sidewalk.

I tried to rub my head and look around me, but within moments, all I saw was black, the smell of worn, unwashed twill surrounding my senses as I was dragged backwards by very strong arms. Up over a hard edge, shoved to an uncomfortable, wiry carpeting, and a sharp, electrifying jab to the back of my head. I was out cold.

I hadn't known at that time what happened while I was out. I didn't know who had done it, or why, or where I'd been taken to. But for the next several hours (or minutes; I couldn't determine time anymore), I found myself blinking through fogs of black and gray, tiny lights dancing in my peripheral and the sound of my own heartbeat pounding wildly in my ears. My pulse was so fast. Had I been running? I sure felt tired... I could barely keep my eyes open. The ground was scratchy and raw against my back, and I didn't like it at all. Occasionally, there was a bright flash of light that disturbed my eyes so much that all I could do was groan and try to turn my head away, but whichever direction I turned to, the light would be there, _flash flash flash_.

I remember a small piece of metal, rectangular in shape, twirling drunkenly just in front of my eyes. It looked fun. That was all I could think, that the metal was fun-looking. I wanted to be like it and just dance around like an idiot. The air smelled nice, and it was so quiet save for my rampant heartbeat.

Spots of my skin would randomly grow very hot, and I felt a constant burning sensation on my back, but other than that, it was kind of peaceful, almost therapeutic the way the smell of fresh linens and the sparkly light of the dancing metal moved in perfect tandem to my lost state of mind.

Next I sort of remember the world tilting to one side very quickly, and the cold air of the night, the air I'd sought out earlier to clear my head, rushing into my lungs and lunging at my skin. My clothes felt strange on my body, and my stomach was doing a strange jazz dance in me that made me groan in severe discomfort. Nothing hurt, but everything was uncomfortable. My limbs were numb and the ground I lay on spun like I was in a clothes dryer.

The hands that had shoved me around earlier were gone, and as far as I could tell, I was alone. My head lulled around against the painful, sandpaper-like ground until I managed to see something familiar: the cigarette vending machine. I appeared to be laying down in front of it, it's soft lighting comforting in a weird way, like laying in a dark bedroom with a nightlight. I wanted to fall asleep, but the twirling actions of my stomach kept that from happening, and I feared I would throw up.

I don't know how long I lay there. I don't remember seeing anyone pass by, which was good. After all, it was probably rather embarrassing to be seen just lying on a sidewalk by the vending machines. Even if someone had seen me, they'd probably only disregarded me as a drunken college student, disappointed with not having enough money to afford some cigarettes.

I was busy memorizing the health warnings at the bottom of one of the boxes on display, contemplating when I could stand again seeing as my whole body felt like it were made of cotton and thread, when I felt the tingling sensation of hands on my face. Everything in my vision resembled paint being poured into water as I tried to focus my eyes on who could possibly be looking at me then. The familiar pale hair and strong jaw were the first things I noticed, and I fought to smile.

"Hey, Usagi..."

He said a few things, but I couldn't quite make them out. I did catch the words "missing", "hour", and "eyes". I would later come to realize that what he'd actually said was, "Misaki! Where in the world have you been? You've been missing for a whole hour! How can it possibly take so long to... Misaki, what's wrong with you? Why are your eyes so big?"

I was certain he would find it strange that I was just lying on the sidewalk like I was, or that he would question why my clothes were on fire (at least, I _thought_ they were. My grasp on reality seemed slightly questionable in that moment). But he didn't even notice that. He instead kept touching my face, lightly slapping one of my cheeks as if to keep me from drifting off to sleep. He kept saying things, but I couldn't understand them.

Usagi had broad shoulders. Have I ever mentioned that? He was always so manly, and I never really appreciated that. And his lips were so soft when they kissed me. I wanted him to kiss me. Nay, I wanted him to have his way with me. Right there on the sidewalk. And I also wanted a baked potato. But mostly I wanted Usagi. That potato sure sounded good, though. Maybe Usagi could feed me a baked potato after making love to me. Is that weird? What was that thing about cows I was thinking of earlier?

He appeared to be on his cellphone, where I could've sworn he was speaking Polish into it, then he had me sitting up and leaning against him, one strong arm around my shoulders and the other hand sifting through my hair. He smelled good. He didn't smell like cigarettes right then, I guess because I hadn't gotten him his packs yet. I thought about it then, but I decided not to. I wanted him to keep smelling like his cologne and his office. His little office in the condo smelled like a library; new paper and wood polish. That was a good smell for him.

Baked potatoes smell good, too. Dammit, I want a potato. They take so long to cook, though. Maybe Usagi can special-order me one. I wonder if he would order in Polish?

As time passed, my body felt like it had been dunked in the ocean and I was being carried away in a riptide. Usagi stayed in my sight but his arms were no longer around me. I was surrounded instead by metal walls and stiff sheets. Something poked my arm, but I didn't really care much. The ocean movements continued until I saw bright lights passing me like a line of UFOs, or when you lay in the backseat of a car while you drive through a tunnel. I swayed constantly, the tides pulling me this way and that until I dropped heavily onto another set of stiff sheets, and a man I didn't recognize was shining a light into my eyes. It hurt very badly, and I squeezed my lids shut, trying to swipe an arm at him. I garbled out Usagi's name a few times, but he never came.

Usagi hadn't left me, had he? Had he hated me for being on fire? Or for wanting potatoes? Or for not getting him his cigarettes? Did Usagi hate me?

Oh, god. Usagi hated me. He hated me. He didn't want me anymore. He found some Polish people and left me with them to stick lights in my eyes and make me sleep on terrible sheets. I was stuck in this ocean forever without Usagi. I wanted Usagi back. I wanted my Usagi.

I think I started crying, but it was hard to tell. I kept saying his name, kept reaching out a hand for him, but he never showed up. I had trouble breathing, and the room got incredibly hot. I think the Polish man with the light got irritated because he put a weird muzzle over my mouth. I struggled for a few minutes, but it used too much of my energy and within moments, I was asleep.

* * *

I'm not sure how long it was before I awoke, but once I did, I was rather terrified by my surroundings. I was in a hospital. I hadn't been in a hospital since my parents' death, and it was all I could think of when I saw those haunting white walls and heard nothing but disturbingly eerie silence.

My eyes tried to survey my condition, but my head hurt so badly and my body felt like it were glued to the cot I was on. The sheets were so stiff... Those sheets... My eyes widened as I began to recall the moments before I had fallen asleep. Everything hadn't been as I had thought it was, of course. I hadn't been on fire, for one. I certainly didn't see any signs of it on my body. The lights that had passed me were the hallways of the hospital, and the man shining the light in my eyes was a doctor. And as far as I knew, Usagi didn't know Polish...

Usagi!

I tried to sit up, but as I moved to lift my arm, I felt a strange weight on it. I looked to find a hand clutching my own, and a soft tuft of hair resting against the sheets beside it. Usagi slept soundly, the rhythmic pace of his breathing replacing the awful silence I had been listening to before. Usagi hadn't left me... He was still here. He simply couldn't get to me because the doctors had been tending to me.

Why _had_ doctors been looking at me? What had happened that had landed me in the hospital?

Obviously Usagi had placed the call for an ambulance when I was back on the sidewalk in his arms. I couldn't understand what he'd been saying, therefore I must've confused it with Polish... (Why Polish, of all things? I must've been really out of it). And the shifting of movements I compared to the ocean was the ambulance ride and my time on a stretcher.

And the baked potato thing... Well... I suppose I had really just wanted a damn potato. Hm.

Usagi didn't stir as I moved, so I imagined he'd been up for a while beside me. The thought clutched at my heart. Usagi had stayed that whole time, for however long I was out, to keep an eye on me. His hand clutching mine felt so warm, it was the best thing I'd felt within those past hours (or days... How long had I been there?)

I lifted my other hand to stroke his hair. For some reason, I just really wanted to touch him more. Everything felt shifted and disconnected, like something within my time on the sidewalk and at the hospital hadn't been real. I wanted to feel Usagi, to make sure everything was still real. As my fingers sifted through his hair, I felt him start to rouse. I dropped my hand as his head lifted, sleepy eyes looking up at me, disoriented.

"Misaki? You awake now?"

"Yeah," I mumbled out, my mouth feeling like it was full of marbles. He sat up and scooted his chair closer, a hand stroking my forehead.

"How do you feel?"

"Miserable," I spoke honestly, closing my eyes upon the contact he made with me.

"Do you remember anything from last night?"

Oh, so it'd only been one day. That was good, I suppose.

"Kind of. I remember being at the cigarette vending machine, and the next thing I know, I'm on the sidewalk, strongly believing that my clothes were on fire."

Usagi was silent for a moment, his fingers stilling against my messy hair. I looked back up at him.

"I don't suppose _you_ know what happened?"

Usagi looked morose for a moment, lowering his hand and leaning back in his chair with his eyes turned downward. "I don't know exactly what happened, but I had to lie to the police to keep them from sniffing around."

"Why?"

His eyes went serious, looking at me as if the whole thing had been my fault. Perhaps it had. I wasn't sure, I just wanted some answers.

Usagi sighed and rubbed his temple. "I found you on the sidewalk by the vending machines. When I got a good look at you, I noticed your pupils were the size of saucers. You were mumbling a lot and weren't making any sense. You asked me to have sex with you twice and kept mentioning potatoes." His face held a little bit of mirth, and I could feel myself blush.

"So I guess I _was_ pretty out of it..."

"That's an understatement," Usagi said calmly, the mirth gone. "When the doctors ran some blood tests, they found MDMA in you."

I stared at him for a moment in silence, but only because I was confused. "Is that... bad?"

"You were drugged up pretty badly, Misaki. Someone doped you up with Ecstasy, a lot of it."

Now I stared in silent shock, unsure of everything at that moment as I tried to recall the previous night and everything I had felt. Ecstasy? Like the street drug? Someone had put that in me? I didn't remember! I didn't remember that at all! When had that happened? I recalled being struck on the head after I'd gone blind for those few moments...

"Does anyone know who could've had done it?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me," came Usagi's simple response, his fingers lacing together in front of him, and in that moment I felt like an errant child who'd been caught drinking at the school dance. I hoped as hard as I could that the whole night of events hadn't somehow been my fault. Usagi continued. "No one saw anything. I got worried when you took so long to get my cigarettes. The first time I went out to look for you, I didn't see you there. When I looped around the block, there you were, on the ground, staring at the machines." He leaned back in towards me. "Misaki... Do you remember _anything_? Any voices? What they looked like? Was it one person or a lot of people?"

"I..." I tried to recall as best as I could, but my mind was so groggy and every memory was clouded by what I could only assume was the effects of the psychoactive drugs I'd been riddled with. "I was pushed against the vending machine, and then everything went black. I think I was put in a car, and then someone hit me on the head." I rubbed my forehead as if that would somehow clear up my congested memories. "I remember wherever I was smelled clean, like laundry or something, and... a piece of metal."

"Metal?"

"Yeah, a little silver piece of metal being waved in front of my eyes."

Usagi looked skeptical, and I couldn't blame him. Nothing I said must've made sense to him, and I worried he wouldn't believe me.

"Usagi... I don't know what else to tell you... That's all I remember... I'm sorry for making you worry, and it's okay if you don't believe me. If there's anything I can do-"

"I do believe you, Misaki. You just..." Then he looked exhausted, like the time he must've spent awake looking after me had finally caught up to him. He stood and leaned over the bed, kissing me deeply, as if it were the first time he'd seen me in months. When he pulled back, his thumbs were stroking along my temples. "I was so worried when I couldn't find you. When I saw you laying on the sidewalk, my heart almost stopped. I was relieved that you were alive, but then I realized you'd been drugged... I would've died if it had been any worse. I almost did, just seeing you like that..."

He looked so pained, like he was taking the full burden of the night upon himself, and I fought quickly to stop his train of thoughts. I couldn't handle him taking the blame for it. I couldn't put that kind of pressure on him. It was too great of an inconvenience, too much stress.

"Usagi, I'm okay. I'm in one piece, so it couldn't have been as bad as you're imagining it. Maybe we can just focus on finding the person who did it. Why don't we have the police help? Why did you want to lie to them?"

My mentor lifted his head, his hands stroking me one more time before he let himself sit on the bed beside me. "The media would blow it up. The attack might've been against you, but everyone would see it as an attack at _me_. For all I know, it _was_ an attack at me. No one else needs to know about that."

My heart sank. An attack against Usagi... It certainly wasn't aimed at him, it had most definitely been aimed at me.

I knew then who had assaulted me, who had drugged me and left me on the sidewalk by the cigarette vending machine.

Ikuko Sakurabi.

She'd finally made good on her threat. And she meant business.

* * *

To be continued.

* * *

AN: My apologies for such a dark chapter, but I'm afraid it's going to get a little more intense in the next one. If this one turned you off, I wouldn't continue reading after this. It won't stay dark forever, but enough to get us through the story's climax. Happy thoughts ahead, I promise! Just gotta get through the depressing stuff first. Thanks for hanging in there!


	4. The Story Of The Very Sturdy Umbrella

The Victim's Stories  
Yosuke

AN: I'm sure a number of you have probably guessed what will happen in this chapter if you read the previous one. Things started getting a little dark and it's about to get worse. The stuff involved in this chapter aren't necessarily things you'd see in the actual manga/anime, I'M AWARE DON'T NAG ME. But I've given sufficient warning: If you don't like mean things happening to Misaki in fanfics, then you best turn back now. For those of you that are sticking around, I love and appreciate every single one of you.

This chapter contains slightly dark themes for Junjou Romantica. Last warning.

* * *

Usagi never found out that I was aware of my assailant's identity, though I had been foggy myself on some of the details. I was happier to have a face behind my soreness, but Usagi would stay in the dark, and that wasn't something I was too proud of. I'd asked why he hadn't involved the police and he said it was to keep the media oblivious. He'd also said that when the police had initially asked why I had been so doped up, he'd told them I'd been out at a popular rave club when someone had slipped something into my drink. Thanks to Usagi, I wouldn't wind up in jail over the whole thing.

No, I was in jail over something else completely different.

My cell is, oddly enough, starting to feel kind of cozy. I would like it if it weren't so chilly, but I imagine the amount of oxygen they pump in here is to help clear disoriented criminals' heads doesn't make the temperature feel like a summer beach house. The bench is terribly uncomfortable to lay on, but my eyelids have been starting to droop and I sure as hell could use the rest. I shift around to lay on the awful thing, using my coat as a pillow, sacrificing my warmth for a shred of comfort.

I wonder if Takahiro has heard about this yet? It'll break his heart when he hears I'm in jail. I can't blame him, it'd break _my_ heart if he ever landed in jail himself. And what about Usagi? He's probably so angry at me... I can't even imagine what I need to do to make this up to him. He's must be so disgusted with me.

Alright, I've covered the stories including the coat check ticket, the awkward cab ride, the cigarette vending machine... What's left? Oh, yes. The climax of the overall story, the pinnacle of this terrible rollercoaster ride.

* * *

**[THE STORY OF THE UNREASONABLY STURDY UMBRELLA]**

* * *

I was kept in the hospital overnight to ensure that I didn't have any additional reactions to the MDMA I had been pumped with, and once my health stabilized, I was free to go. Usagi didn't say much on the ride home, so I resigned to the sad silence, too confused and ashamed to try to delve any further into the unfortunate series of events that had happened over the past couple of months.

I suppose after I had been harassed at Usagi's award party, after my coat had been sent to me gutted like a terrible low-budget reenactment of a horror movie, after I'd been threatened in a cab by a very rich woman with a lot riding on the man I was apparently "distracting" and "confusing", after I'd been abducted on the street, knocked unconscious, drugged, and who knows what else while I was out of it, I should've been more prepared for the next step in my stalker's plan.

Stupid me.

We'd arrived home late in the afternoon to find a package at the foyer door. From past experience, I immediately grew concerned and offered to take the box and examine it, but apparently Usagi was also on edge, wary of the circumstances and suspicious of the package. I had tried to convince him it was for me, considering it had no return address, but once we saw that it was labeled for Akihiko Usami, I couldn't much fight it anymore.

Grinding my teeth, I stepped back and let him handle the package, then was far too overcome with embarrassment over what it might contain and quickly flew up the stairs to the bathroom, feigning illness.

I stayed in the toilet room for about twenty minutes, sitting against the door and praying. Surely whatever had been in that package hadn't been _too_ bad, right? I didn't hear any noise coming from downstairs, and last I checked, all of my belongings had been returned to me. Ms. Sakurabi couldn't have stolen anything and destroyed it like she had my cashmere coat.

Perhaps it was just an actual package for Usagi, from an adoring fan, though he did have a separate mailing address for his fan mail... Oh, it was driving me crazy! What was in that box? One of my brother's ears packed on ice? Sakurabi _was_ pretty crazy, as much as I had seen.

Swallowing against my dry throat, I stood and walked back downstairs. Upon reaching the first floor, I saw Usagi on the phone, talking very quietly into it. I held my breath to try and hear what he was saying, but he was off the phone before I could really catch any of it.

When he turned around, his gaze was far off, angry, and disappointed. I didn't let my breath go. Whatever had been in that box had been the fourth part of Sakurabi's threat, and all of the pieces were starting to fall in place for my mentor.

With more bravery than I could ever imagine having in my life, I quietly asked, "So... Who was it from?"

His icy glare was still there, but with what I could only call foolish hope, the glare was not directed at me. It was slightly relieving, but the mortification was starting to settle in. The box's contents were very likely incriminating against all the lies I'd been telling and things I'd been hiding from my lover. Whatever it was would be very embarrassing and foreboding for me.

Usagi took a few steps forward and handed me what I assumed had been in the package: a digital camera. I was terribly confused, never having seen that particular camera before.

"Misaki, I wouldn't normally let you see this, but I think it's important if we're going to figure out who did this to you." He looked so remorseful. "If you can remember anything by looking at these, then I can help. I've already got a lead, but it's not much right now. Does anyone in those photos look familiar?"

I was still thoroughly perplexed as I took the device and switched it on. Within moments, clarity hit me and my stomach sank to the floor.

Eighty-two pictures of me on a floor in an unfamiliar room with at least three other people, and they were all... _doing things_... to me.

I don't know what force kept me on my feet then, but my jaw did fall open as I started skimming through each photo on the memory card, my knees shaking and the sick feelings I had experienced while under the influence of the psychoactive drugs returning almost full-force. Each photo was mortifying and completely revealing in the most humiliating ways. Each of the room's occupants were men, the same general build and appearance, more like evil henchmen than random rapists.

_Sakurabi's "assistants"._

Within the span of eighty-two photographs, they each took turns using their hands... and mouths... and that other part of them I was suddenly revolted to know had touched me in some way... violating me in a way I'd only ever let Usagi do. And in each picture, my eyes were open, my stare glassy and lifeless, and my body seemed to be reacting however they wanted it to. I couldn't believe it... I didn't remember any of that! I didn't remember seeing any of them, I didn't remember them _pushing into me_ or putting their mouths on me... Oh, god! This photo, one of them is _in my mouth_...

My gag reflex hit me harder than I'd ever felt as I dropped the camera and ran to the kitchen's trash can, heaving into it harshly and desperately. I wanted them out of my body. I didn't want a single trace in me that I'd ever had one of them down my throat, let alone inside me in other ways.

By the time I was done, my fingers were clutching the sides of the trash can until my knuckles were white, and my shoulders were shaking violently. I pulled myself away from the bin to slump onto the floor, tears from the heaving running down my face and my breathing heavy. Within moments, I felt a large hand running down my back soothingly and I almost started weeping right there. How could Usagi still stand me at that point? He'd seen me at my lowest point, in the most humiliating light, knowing that other men had seen me in ways, had touched me in ways that only _he_ had ventured. He couldn't possibly stomach touching me anymore. I was filthy, I was contaminated. A dozen showers wouldn't wash the evidence away.

I wiped my face off on my sleeve and rested heavily against the kitchen cabinets by the trash can. "Usagi, I'm... I'm so sorry... I didn't know... I don't remember any of that happening... I wouldn't have done any of that had I known..."

"Hush," came his soothing voice, far more understanding than I deserved. His hand kneaded my shoulder. "You didn't know. It's okay."

"No, it's not," I whimpered out. "Look at the pictures, my eyes are open. I must've known but just not have-"

"Your eyes were glazed over. You look dead in those pictures, Misaki. It was the Ecstasy. You didn't have any control over the situation. If you did know, wouldn't you have put up a fight?"

"Of course I would have!" I looked at him then, my face beet-red and my cheeks wet.

"You put up enough of a fight as it is with me," Usagi said quietly, brushing my bangs out of my face, his gaze calm and loving. "I would imagine you'd fight off anyone else who can't even come close to pleasing you like I do."

My face was red for a completely different reason then, and I had to turn away. "I feel like calling you a pervert right now would be severely misplaced."

"The only real perverts here are the guys in these photos." Usagi pulled me to my feet and handed me the camera again. "You have to try to remember anything you can. I know you don't want to look at these, but we have to figure this out."

I'd already figured it out. They all worked for SDI and had probably made fat paychecks off of defiling me. Ikuko Sakurabi was an evil woman indeed. But Usagi couldn't know, or his business with SDI and his job would be in a stranglehold, so I had to play dumb. Humoring my mentor, I took the camera back and stomached looking through the pictures again, Usagi a few feet away so he wouldn't have to look himself. I could easily see the tension in his frame, how badly he wanted to punch someone. I was just thankful that someone wasn't me.

As I stared absentmindedly at each picture, not really focusing on them but just vaguely processing each humiliating snapshot of a night I had no memory of, something intriguing caught my eye. One of the men who was over me, my legs being held around his waist and his body bowing dominatingly over a lifeless version of myself, had a familiar piece of jewelry around his neck. It was a simple thin chain with a dogtag dangling from it, directly over my glassy eyes. The tag was a flawless metal piece, very shiny and dancing light from it.

Dancing... and shiny... It was the piece of metal I remembered, the rectangular piece of metal that had danced in my vision when I had no other coherency to cling on to!

Usagi seemed to notice my stiffness at the recognition and was at my side in a heartbeat. "What is it? Do you remember something?"

I bit my tongue, unsure if I should share the information with him. It couldn't have hurt, I supposed. It was just a dogtag. I pointed it out to him on the camera.

"Do you remember that piece of metal I told you about? The one that danced around in front of me?"

"The dogtag?"

"Yeah," I said quietly, giving him the device back. "That's all I remember. The metal was the dogtag. I guess when he was... _doing it_... it swayed back and forth right over my eyes."

He seemed to accept the clue, staring in pure contempt down at the picture before shutting the camera off. "You also said the room smelled clean, right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah... Like fresh linens. It was the only pleasant thing I felt at all."

Usagi remained motionless for a moment, staring into space in contemplation before turning the camera over in his hands a few times then setting it down on the kitchen counter. I worried then that he might've known something and wasn't letting on about it. I could only hope otherwise; if Usagi got stuck in the middle of that mess, a mess I was having too much trouble containing, he would be burdened with all of my problems.

Perhaps what Sakurabi had prompted wasn't such an impossible idea. She'd demanded I leave Usagi, to clear out of his life so he could continue working at his regular pace. I had refused because I just couldn't imagine my life without him, but since he was starting to get involved in my mess, this avalanche of problems... maybe stepping out of the way for a while would be in his best interest. Who was I to cause him such problems? Sakurabi was targeting me, and I was pulling Usagi into the line of fire by being selfish and stubborn and so childish.

I almost started crying right there. Usagi noticed, but I quickly brushed it off as another sick spell coming on and told him I needed some rest. He accepted that, and I moved back upstairs to clean myself up and hide away in my room, considering the very real possibility that I would have to leave the man I couldn't live without.

I skipped dinner that night, asking Usagi to order himself something. He wisely gave me my space as I confined myself to my bed, too disgusted with myself and the ways I'd been vitiated to let my tutor try to make love to me. I couldn't imagine his hands on me then after I'd been dirtied so. As much as I wanted, nearly _craved_ Usagi's kinder touches, I feared more the look on his face when he would come to realize that the parts of me he would explore with his own mouth had previously been claimed with another's, like trying to eat an apple that already had a bite taken out of it. I was spoiled, tainted. Usagi wouldn't possibly have had any desire for me after seeing those pictures.

I feigned sleep well into the early morning, though within the darkness of my room all I could see within the shadows were unfamiliar faces looming over me, touching me, moving me at their whim and me having no power to stop it. I suddenly recalled the flashing light I had noticed while under the spell of the drugs. It had been the camera, circling me, catching every disturbing angle. The camera was suddenly in the room as well, and I could almost see those piercing flashes of light breaking through my disorientation to further my humiliation. It didn't help that it began to drizzle outside, the light drumming of rain against my window as distant, pathetic flashes of lightning just barely glimpsed through my curtains.

I wasn't sure at what time that night I made the executive decision to put all of the madness into proper sense, but it was sudden and very likely a bad idea. I had to at least try, though, or else I would be burdened with the impossible task of breaking up with Usagi. I needed to see Ms. Sakurabi, and I had a pretty good idea how to find her.

I threw my clothes on and tiptoed out the front door, grabbing one of Usagi's umbrellas with 'Marukawa Publishing' inscribed in the fabric, and making my great escape into the outside world. I was nervous as all hell, considering the last time I'd gone out at night by myself I'd been abducted, drugged, and raped. But this was the only thing I could think to do, and if I ended up on my back by the cigarette vending machine again, blitzed out of my mind, then so be it.

I walked along the familiar streets for a while, never looking behind me, never expecting anyone to show up but simply expecting instead to run straight into the woman I dreaded most right then. Sakurabi had been stalking me before, so why wouldn't she show up then? Especially after having been handed the fourth installment of her string of threats? She wanted me to be intimidated. Seeing me on the street by myself at night _again_ should've made me an easier target than ever before.

Without really realizing it, I ended up walking a lot farther than I had intended, my focus drifting from finding Ms. Sakurabi to recalling the events over the past three months, starting from the party and ending with me walking through an icy drizzle in the wee hours of the morning.

I had been targeted at that party, eyed by every haughty spectator and dubbed a prostitute by people who hadn't even bothered to try and know me. _Sakurabi had probably spread the rumor herself_. I was looked down on, and Usagi had been put in danger of being criticized for keeping a "boy-toy" around. _Sakurabi had been jealous of my relationship with Usagi_. The lovely, expensive coat my lover had bought me had been stolen from me and returned covered in paint and torn to shreds. _Sakurabi had performed the execution herself._ I'd been stalked at school. _Sakurabi had sent one of her men to follow me._ I'd been pulled into a cab and one of the most painful conversations of my life, forcing me to consider leaving the man I cared about in order to save his job and my own hide. _Sakurabi had threatened me, had made light of Usagi's dedication to his job by saying he was "distracted" and "confused" by some meager sexual wiles._ I had been kidnapped, assaulted, drugged, gangbanged, photographed, and left to be discovered in my humiliation by the one person I would never want to see me in such a state. _Sakurabi hired the men. Sakurabi arranged the whole thing. She'd probably supplied them with the drugs._ And to top it all off, the pictures of my defiling, the most vexing moment of my life, a moment I'd been awake to experience but not nearly conscious enough to fight, had been sent to Usagi, to show him in how many ways I'd been torn and tormented, how many times I'd been violated and in what ways that had been accomplished. _Sakurabi sent the pictures. Sakurabi. Sakurabi. It was all her. It was all Sakurabi. _

And for what? For money, of course. And to build a gap between myself and Usagi, to make myself disgusting to my mentor until he couldn't stand me, to make me afraid of our own relationship so that she could swoop in with her perfectly-manicured talons and take Akihiko Usami for herself.

This was all Ikuko Sakurabi. She'd started this whole mess. She was destroying me.

The rage began to build then, and I had no way of stopping it. All of the facts falling into place, all the moments I'd recalled, all the pain and humiliation, all the feelings from being drugged, the ache in my bones, the memories of Usagi's angry face, his mournful face at having lost me if only for an hour to be spat upon by a group of faceless thugs... I lost it.

And that's when I saw her car.

I was as shocked as anyone else would be to wind up face-to-fender with the car of the woman I'd felt compelled to hunt down, and anyone in a sane state of mind would have taken a moment to consider that perhaps this might not be the actual car in question. Perhaps it was just a random rich person's car, same color, same style, same foreign emblem with that hard to pronounce name sitting pretty and shiny on the hood. A sane person would have walked away, or at least would've made sure beyond a reasonable doubt that this car was indeed the perpetrator's vehicle.

I was only willing to bet on it. My rage didn't have the patience to wait for another opportunity.

I wasn't sure what to do, and my sentient side was slipping away. I only saw red, only saw the pain and chagrin of my time at the unmerciful hands of that witch. I had been made to suffer, Usagi would suffer, all because of her pathetic jealousy.

Before I knew it, I was sitting on the curb of a recording company's parking lot, heaving in lungfuls of air, damp from the light rain and sweat, Usagi's umbrella in my hands, and the formerly-beautiful foreign car smashed in all the important parts, the car alarm filling the peaceful night air with agonizing turbulence.

Bits of shattered glass was at my feet, once belonging to a whole windshield, and to my right lay a defeated driver-side mirror, wires poking out lifelessly in a few directions. I absorbed each detail as if I was just then seeing it for the first time, which in all honesty was the truth. I didn't remember actually smashing the car. I just remembered my anger, closing my umbrella, and making the decision that _this_ was Sakurabi's car. But seeing it like that, in glittering pieces across the asphalt, was hard to swallow, like waking up from sleepwalking after raiding the fridge, or having a split personality and finding a murder you committed upon awakening. The windshield wipers had been torn clean off, and the antenna was bent at a funny angle (I guess I hadn't been strong enough to tear it off as well). The doors and hood had several ugly dents and scratches, and two windows on each side were cracked and partially shattered.

I heard someone yelling from a building nearby, but I didn't even look. I was too shocked, too appalled with myself, like I'd been possessed by some otherworldly creature, and the last thing I thought before I was tackled to the ground by who I could only guess was the _real_ owner of the car was...

... that umbrella was unreasonably sturdy.

* * *

AN: I tried not to get too mean with this by use of Misaki's modest narrative. I hope I didn't upset too many people. Don't worry, the worst is over. Positivity ahead, I promise!


	5. The Stories' Conclusion

The Victim's Stories  
Yosuke

AN: This is the chapter that concludes all of the previous stories. There will an epilogue uploaded afterwards.

* * *

I don't know if Usagi knows what I've done. I've been sitting here thinking it over and wondering if Usagi will even come for me at this point. If he does know, I can't even guess whether he would leave me in here like putting a child in time-out corner, or if he would come retrieve me to take me home and scold me for putting such a dent in his work relationship.

As it turned out, the owner of the car was an intern for a major recording studio based one city over, and had been parked at a smaller branch overnight as part of his work description. He'd seemed like a nice enough fellow after he was finished beating the crap out of me. After the police had surmised that I wasn't on drugs or intoxicated, and that I was in a sound state of mind, and after hearing me explain that I thought it was someone else's car, the man had been nice enough to not press charges. But I _had_ destroyed another person's property, so I was required to sit in jail for one night while they examined the evidence. I don't have much of a defense built up if they decide to question me. All I can say is "Oops" and bat my eyelashes. Maybe I could play the "I have a rich boyfriend" card, but I'm not sure how far that'll get me.

I keep thinking it would've been easier if that umbrella I'd been using to smash the man's car to pitiful little pieces had been a little less sturdy. If it could've just broken on the first few swings, I would've stopped and called it a night. But that thing had been made of whatever superheroes' weapons were made of. I could fight crime with that damn thing! Or at least, I could have if the police hadn't taken it away. Because it had been used to destroy the car, it was considered evidence, and thanks to my lack of discretion, Marukawa Publishing had now been brought into all of this, seeing as it was an umbrella from their company.

To help everyone tally it all up, here is a complete list of everyone I've pissed off within the past few months: Ikuko Sakurabi, the owner of that formerly-nice foreign car, the local police department, Marukawa Publishing (including but not limited to Ms. Aikawa who is in charge of all of Usagi's public relations and very likely Ryuuichirou Isaka, Marukawa's senior managing director and a bit of a neighborhood bully when it comes to me and Usagi's relationship), and the cherry on top, Akihiko Usami. Well, I hadn't actually _seen_ him since I'd destroyed that poor man's car, but I imagine he's none too happy with my performance. Especially since he doesn't like me going off by myself anymore, considering last time that happened, I was demoralized in more ways than one.

I hadn't even thought of how angry he'd be with me going out at night by myself after he specifically told me _not_ to. Crap.

I've lost all track of time by this point, and I'm sure I should be a little more tired than I am now, but I can't find it in me to sleep. Usagi's disappointed stare haunts me just behind closed eyelids and I can't face that right now. Sleep just doesn't seem to be an option, so I opt to stay awake and patiently await my destiny at the other side of this fathomless night.

Far earlier than I expect, an officer arrives at my door, holding it open and gesturing for me to come out. I slip my arms into my coat and sigh heavily as I'm taken to sign a few papers, talk to a couple more people, then dumped into the reception area to come face-to-face with someone I very much did not want to see.

Ikuko Sakurabi.

I imagine the reaction I give is somewhat similar to a cat encountering a very big dog. My skin crawls and I cling tightly to my coat, suddenly wanting very much to be able to disappear inside of it. What was _she_ doing here? How did she know about my imprisonment? Did she know about the destruction of the other car? Where was Usagi? Oh, god, where was Usagi?

In severe contrast to my own personal thoughts on the woman, Sakurabi smiles warmly at me like a mother encountering her estranged son and wraps me in her arms, her wiry, loathsome arms. She smells like retail perfume and (this might be an exaggeration) the stench of puppies being burned in Hellfire. If I squint hard enough, I can see the horns on her perfect little head.

"Oh, Misaki darling, I was so worried! I'm so happy you're okay! Look at you! You're simply a mess! Come, let's clean you up!" Ms. Sakurabi exclaims loudly enough for the uninterested woman sitting at the front desk to notice as well as the police officer who had escorted me from my cell. I grit my teeth and follow the crazy woman out of the building, well aware that I had probably gotten out early from my sentence thanks to her influence and money. That doesn't sit right in my head; I hate the idea of owing this witch anything.

Once we're outside in the dark early morning air, chilly and humid from last night's rain, she hooks her arm through mine and we walk together along the street like a couple of high school friends. I hate every moment of it, my skin tingling (in a bad way) and my hatred from last night raising to dangerous levels again.

"So, Misaki my dear, I heard you had a little accident."

I say nothing, biting my tongue to keep myself from digging myself any further down this hole than I am already.

"What are the odds that two of the same rare car are in the same city at the same time?"

I can't stand that she's touching me.

"But look, no hard feelings, okay?" She stops and turns to me, unhooking her arm from mine and looking me right in the eyes for a moment before slipping a pair of glittery sunglasses on, even though it's still dark out. "I get why you wanted to try and attack me, but let's just let it go, okay? Forgive and forget, as they say!"

I nearly stammer out a rage-filled response of how she _deserved_ to have her car smashed in, but she's pulled out her phone and is ordering someone over the other end very quickly. Within moments of her hanging up, a car speeds into sight, a car I recognize, like seeing a ghost materializing from the mist. My heart sinks at the sight as I remember the faulty accusations I'd made against someone else's car and wonder vaguely what Usagi will think of me when he hears, if he hasn't already.

The ever-familiar Tetsuo pops out once the car pulls to a stop at the curb beside us and rushes around to open the door for us. Sakurabi turns to me then, a glistening white smile breaking through her lips as she gestures to the car. "Why don't you join me? I'm sure you've taken the time to consider my proposal. Let's discuss some details, shall we?"

I don't see a choice, my feet feeling like lead and my breathing all but unnoticeable to myself as I contemplate what will happen once I enter that car. Without realizing it, I've taken a few steps forward, prepared to face what will surely be my demise when I all too suddenly notice something surprising and rather frightening.

Upon glancing up at Tetsuo in my absentminded steps to the vehicle, I catch a glimpse at his neck and see, poking out from between the joining folds of his button-up, a little glimmer of silver.

A silver dogtag on a thin chain.

I make a noise then, one I don't ever recall making in my entire life, something pained and horrified like when one sees a dead body in the street as I quickly fall back a few steps, my hand flying to my mouth as the haunting images of that little silver speck of light swaying before my eyes as I was sullied so terribly play again and again within my mind. My mouth gapes as I continue to shuffle backwards until I'm pressed against a wall of a store. Sakurabi and Tetsuo stare at me, her gaze calm and conniving when she dips her head down to look at me from over her sunglasses, and his unreadable behind his own pair of shades.

"Something wrong, Misaki dear?" The witch asks sweetly, cocking her head to the side and smiling. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Stay away from me," I whisper out hoarsely, and without warning I take off down the street, puddles from the earlier rain flaring wildly in my wake as I try to race to freedom. I can't get in the car with them. I can't be near them. They are going to do something else to me, something more to further threaten me. I have to get away. I have to get to Usagi! Usagi will protect me!

I think I only make it a few buildings down before I feel a strong, heavy hand on my arm, yanking me backwards and sending me into the firm frame of a taller person. Another hand grabs my other arm to fully restrain me, and I buck wildly against them.

"Stop it! Let me go! Let me go right now!"

I manage to glimpse up for a second in my wild panic to see Tetsuo holding me, fingers vice-like on my arms and face unreadable behind his shades. Nausea almost overcomes me again, my stomach roiling around inside me at the mere _thought_ of this man putting his hands on me in any way again. Tetsuo had been one of the men in that unfamiliar room that day, doing what he wanted with me, each mortifying moment, each position caught in those despicable snapshots. And he knows it very well. He's probably thinking about it at this very moment, probably knowing how _easy_ it is to hold me down.

A cry breaks free from my mouth as I continue to thrash against his grasp, though I'm sure this goes unnoticed to the assistant as he drags me back towards the car with ease, the bones in my arms feeling ready to break from the pressure he's putting on them. I can see Sakurabi there, a vicious white smile on her face as she stands patiently, drumming her red nails against her arm in anticipation. I can't get back in that car. I can't do it! It'll be even worse than my previous abduction! They'll do... other things, worse things! I can't do it! Someone help me! Anyone! Usagi! Where is Usagi?

Any hope I felt before of Usagi coming to my rescue seems to shatter in an instant. He saw me defiled, he saw the pictures, the ways I'd been mistreated. Things he'd only ever done to me, ways he'd touched me, places he'd kissed me, were all tainted by the man currently dragging me to my doom. And to top it all off, Usagi was probably well aware of the vandalism I'd caused to the intern's car. He must be so ashamed. And disgusted. He can't possibly want me anymore. I've caused so much trouble for him already, not to mention Marukawa Publishing is likely pissed off too since I dragged their name into this, or rather, smashed it into an innocent vehicle a few times.

Was this it? Was I never going to see Usagi again? Was he going to turn his back on me out of disgust and spite? I can't blame him if he does, though every fiber of my being is screaming for him. Usagi loves me, but if you piss someone off enough... What's the point of trying to make it work when you've done so much wrong?

I almost give up now, my body going flaccid in the man's grasp at the thought of never seeing Usagi again. Will Usagi hate me even more now, when he hears of whatever Sakurabi will have done to me after today? Maybe this is for the best. Sakurabi called me a distraction, and apparently Usagi hasn't been giving enough product for SDI lately. Perhaps she was right. If I leave now, Usagi can work properly again, he can earn his profits back and everyone carries on happily. Everyone except for... me.

That's okay, I guess. I can't be selfish. If everything works out better with me out of the way, then I suppose it's time I left. My heart wrenches in my chest at the thought as the dark oblivion of the car interior closes in on me.

But it comes to an abrupt halt as I'm thrown sideways, almost hitting the car door and falling to my side. Tetsuo's hands are no longer on me, and when I turn to look, I see the other man also on the ground, on his back with a hand clutching his face. In my peripheral, I see Ms. Sakurabi staring in complete shock at something on the other side of me, towards the car. I whip my head around to see.

Usagi.

I have never seen him like this, alight with anger and a look in his eyes that suggests he is ready to kill something, or someone. My breath catches in my throat, tears almost springing to my eyes as I'm split between the urges to crawl into his arms or run for my life. In the end, I stay on the ground, stupefied and wondering what will happen next.

Usagi strides with long, powerful steps past me (I swear I feel the ground shake) and towards the laid-out Tetsuo, reaching a hand down to grasp the silver dogtag laying on his chest. In one swift motion, he yanks it off easily and brings it up to his own face, staring at it intently before pocketing it and reaching down again to grip the other man by his shirt collar. With a strength I've never seen him use before, Usagi lifts the other man's torso off the ground and brings him nearer to his face so that he can hiss directly to him, "I hope the money you made is worth every broken bone you're about to have."

That was my cue, as if a fire had been lit beneath me, to sail to my feet and grab onto Usagi's arm as tightly as I can, preventing him from mauling the man to near-death as I can tell he wants very much to do.

"Usagi, please! Don't do it! It's not worth it! It's just going to be too much trouble later!" I plead with him, too ashamed to look into his eyes but too desperate to let him go. If he pummels Tetsuo, it'll be too difficult to resolve later. Police would be brought back into the matter, and Usagi could wind up in jail. I have to keep anymore bad things from happening to Usagi, especially when it was all my fault to begin with.

The muscles in my lover's arm are strained in his attempt to keep his hold on the assistant's shirt, but after a moment he drops him, Tetsuo falling back to the ground with a heavy 'thud' and a groan. Usagi calmly straightens himself, but I can't tell if he's looking at me. I'm too scared to look. Instead, I glimpse over at Ms. Sakurabi, who looks a little pale, but forces a nervous smile.

"Well, Mr. Usami, it's... It's nice to see you."

Usagi says nothing in response, and I can tell without even looking at him that he's staring right at her with a look that could kill.

"Ikuko Sakurabi, right?" he says calmly, catching us both off guard. After a moment, Ms. Sakurabi nods a little, still smiling.

"Yes, of Sakurabi Digital Industries. I print your books."

"You also take awful pictures." Usagi's arm moves out of my grasp to reach into his pocket and pull out the digital camera he'd been shipped. Without any thought, he drops the device, which promptly lands on Tetsuo's face, who gripes loudly and clutches his abused chin. Usagi continues, "The memory card has the SDI logo on it. I knew it was you the moment I took it out of the camera."

Sakurabi almost looks insulted for a moment. "How? Anyone could own a memory card from my company!"

"You're the only one who would use one, though." His voice is icy, and I dread looking at him, so I keep my eyes on Sakurabi, withdrawing a few feet just in case Usagi decides to get violent again. "SDI's profits are dropping, and I haven't met a single person who's bought any sort of camera equipment from you. It's low-grade, a cheap knock-off of better brands at twice the price. It might as well have _'Made In China'_ stamped on it."

The blonde demon looks to be on the verge of spitting curses at my mentor, her hands fisting at her sides in total, unbridled anger at the thought of her own products being insulted.

"How dare you? SDI has been behind you every step of the way, supporting you, making you money-"

"Wrong," Usagi cuts her off. "You were behind me when I started showing I was worth a number with a few more zeroes behind it. You supported me when you put money on me like a stock. And you didn't make me any money, I made the money myself. I wrote the books, and Marukawa made them profitable by selling them. You just gave me some paper, which I'm now getting from other sources."

Both Sakurabi and I turn to look at Usagi in shock, but she speaks first.

"What... What do you mean?"

"I've talked it over with Ryuuichirou Isaka, the senior managing director at Marukawa. You remember him, right? The one who signed the contract with SDI? He's decided that you haven't met the terms of the conditions set by the contract, and provided us with substandard products to work with. You also violated the contract by directly contacting authors to harass them into furthering their workflow, and also by betting on them, which is essentially what you are doing by putting money on our names and seeing how many copies of our books we sell." Somewhere during that explanation, Usagi had taken out a cigarette and flicked open his lighter, taking a quick drag. I imagine it's to help relieve some of the stress, to keep himself from wailing on her himself. When the smoke clears from his face, I can see his unmoving, unwavering glare staring directly into the woman's soul (if she has one).

"Ms. Sakurabi, I'm afraid it's not working out. Marukawa Publishing will no longer be requiring your services, and will begin with another company, one that doesn't drug and rape teenagers, beginning next month. The paperwork has already been mailed to your office. Thank you for your time and effort. Have a pleasant day." And just like that, the frigid atmosphere is gone; Usagi turns towards me, dropping his cigarette on the ground, and I have to avoid eye contact quickly before I can see any disappointment in his face. I don't want to see how much he hates me. I'm happy he could save me, but I'm worried that might just be a parting gift.

Usagi's hands immediately find my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks as he tries to persuade me to look at him, but I can't. I instead fall into his chest, gripping onto his shirt and holding on as the urge to cry becomes nearly overwhelming. From behind us I can hear Sakurabi swearing, promising us that "we'll be sorry" and "she'll get us for this" before she climbs into her car and drives off, reminding me of an evil goon from some animated children's movie. Tetsuo seems to notice his boss has left him for dead and clambers to his feet, rushing away as well. The situation doesn't necessarily feel resolved, but I imagine Usagi has something much bigger in mind planned for later. That woman hurt me in ways I can never fully express, and I doubt my mentor will let her get away with that.

It takes a few moments of reinforcement in my mind, telling myself that Usagi is really here and I'm not at that evil woman's mercy anymore, before I pull away and dare to glimpse up into his eyes.

There is no hatred or spite or any distance built between us. His eyes are honest and remorseful, his hands returning to my face and touching me gently.

"Misaki, these bruises..."

For the first time, I notice the small spots of pain on various parts of my body, and I quickly realize that, in my absentminded state on the asphalt after I'd smashed the man's car to hell and back, I hadn't escaped from that moment as unscathed as I thought. I'd been aware of how he'd beaten the crap out of me, but I hadn't felt a moment of it. The pain had been dulled by my own preoccupation with the moment at hand, too oblivious by how easily and violently I had let myself slip into such rage.

Takahiro will never believe me when I tell him I destroyed a man's car with an umbrella.

I shake my head and try to move Usagi's hands from my face. "I did something really stupid, Usagi. I'm... I'm so sorry."

"You were in jail, right?"

I look up at him in surprise. "Yeah... How...?"

"The car you roughed up rather impressively belonged to an acquaintance of mine." He refuses to let his hands move any further from me, intermittently touching my hair or my arms. "He was at a meeting I attended some while back to turn one of my books into a made-for-TV movie. He's going to be charged with overseeing the soundtrack. Pretty big break for an intern."

My jaw nearly falls open. What were the odds of that?

"He called me when he realized who you were. He said he saw you at my award party, but didn't know it was you until after he'd taken his anger out on you." His eyes change briefly, darkening, to show sweltering anger. "I'm none too happy with what he did, but we came to an agreement: He said if I didn't fire him from the movie project and don't pound his soul right out of his goddamn body, he wouldn't press charges for the damage to his car."

My face goes red at the reminder of the rage-driven incident I'd been a part of and I quickly bow my head to hide it. "Usagi, I'm really, really sorry. I'm such an idiot, I wasn't thinking..."

"You did it because you thought it was _her_ car, right?"

I shrug a little. "Y-Yeah..."

"How long has she been harassing you?"

"Since the award party," I practically whisper. "I didn't lose my coat at school, she stole it at the party and sent it back to me later shredded to pieces. She also started rumors at the party that..." My voice dies out, too embarrassed to tell Usagi the truth, but he continues to stand patiently, waiting to hear.

"What rumors, Misaki?"

"She said... She told everyone that I was a prostitute, and you hired me for... for..."

Before I am aware of it, I'm enveloped in Usagi's arms, his body warm and his touch careful. He's aware of how much I've been hurt over the past few days and is trying so hard not to scare me off with his advances, despite how oblivious he normally is to my resentment of his affection.

"Misaki, I'm so sorry. I wish I'd known. If I'd known that that was being said at the party, I would've stopped them. As for the other night..."

"Don't, Usagi. It's okay."

"No, it's not." He doesn't let go, only continues to hold me like this will be the last time he'll ever get to see me. "I shouldn't have let you go out by yourself. I wish I could've helped you. You didn't deserve any of that."

"She did it to get me away from you." I pull away from Usagi's hold, looking up at his saddened gaze. "She wanted to scare me off, and to make me... _disgusting_ to you."

Usagi's lips curl down in a disapproving expression, though I'm sure the heavy gaze isn't meant for me. Still seeming quite upset, his fingers lightly grasp my arm and he starts to head down the street a little ways, towing me along beside him. I barely even think about where we're headed, as I'm so focused on his upset features. Perhaps this cross stare _is_ meant for me? Maybe he is disgusted by what's happened.

Before I am aware of it, I'm at the driver side door of Usagi's shiny, expensive car. I only stare at my reflection in the tinted windows for a moment before the doors unlock and I'm being persuaded inside. Normally, Usagi would just throw me in or demand I do so, but I think he's trying to keep his touches light and the mood calm, worried that any aggression, playful or not, will scare me into a shell. As much as I should tell him that I'm no more fragile than I was before, I think I'll hold off; it's nice not having to fend off his pushy advances for a while.

Though as it turns out, I'm wrong about that. I'm pushed in lightly to the passenger side through the driver side entrance, my back to the passenger door and my legs stretched out across the two seats. I notice Usagi climbing in after me, shutting the door and immediately moving himself between my legs. Now, the seating area of a sports car isn't really a place meant for making out, especially when one of the couple is as big as Akihiko Usami (who is rather tall and broad shouldered). The interior is more oval-shaped than anything, though the leg room is quite spacious. I imagine that this is what the inside of an egg would feel like. But the thought doesn't stay for long as I feel one of my legs pulled up between the cushions and Usagi's body, adequately spreading me for him, and my back pushed against the soft upholstery of the door.

Usagi kneels between my legs, his hands clutching at the sides of my face as he kisses me deeply, hotly, as if this kiss would heal everything between us and what had happened to me. My face immediately flares red, an ingrained reaction I doubt I'll ever overcome. I'm gradually shifted to sit more on his bent legs rather than the seat, and from here I can easily feel his pelvis grinding into mine, trying to elicit some reaction in me. Much to my own shame, it works, and I'm gradually becoming more aroused.

I don't mean to, but I whimper against his lips, which he seems to take as encouragement, his tongue searching my mouth voraciously and his fingers stroking gently against my scalp and neck, lulling me into a state of bliss I can't even begin to describe. When he parts to let me breathe, I see his impassioned eyes watching me, burning into me in a way I've rarely seen before.

"Misaki, I'm so sorry."

His voice reverberates in the silent car surrounded by the quiet early morning dark, and I have to concentrate to make my own voice work.

"Sorry... for what...?"

He kisses me again, this time briefly and his hands move down along my torso to slide my cashmere coat, the white one he'd bought me to replace my old, destroyed one, off of my shoulders.

"You shouldn't have had to suffer like that, not for me. You should've told me that bitch was messing with you, I would have-"

"Usagi, stop..."

"No, I won't Misaki. You didn't deserve to be hurt like that." His deft fingers unbutton my sweater-vest and push up the thin cotton shirt I'm wearing underneath. Craning his neck, he places soft kisses on my chest, not the usual lustful wet kisses, but chaste, apologetic kisses, as if to heal my bruises and reclaim what the men in that room that night had tried to take for themselves. "Please, Misaki, please come to me when you're hurting. I want to help you. I want to protect you. I love you, Misaki. Let me love you."

His lips find my neck and I'm suddenly puddy in his hands, a trembling, whimpering mess of Misaki as his fingers start to unbutton my jeans.

"U-Usagi..."

"I'm sorry, Misaki. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

The breath against my neck, the words being whispered straight into my ear and the shaking of his fingers against my belly tells me just what I need to know. He _is_ sorry. He feels solely responsible for my pain, much like how guilty I felt for the death of my parents so many years ago. It's a pain sitting so deep, holding onto his heart so fiercely that it hurts him to even look at me. It was the anguish I've been catching glimpses of in his face that night. He couldn't protect me from Sakurabi before, and now he's dealing with his own reprimanding.

Understand this: Usagi doesn't cry. I have only seen him cry once, and that's something we don't talk about. He's always been very good at keeping his emotions bottled up, which I've never found very healthy but he seems to make it work, though every now and then those emotions fester so much within himself that they tend to come spilling out in ways only children display. But he doesn't cry, and I know at this moment, if he were a crying kind of person, he would be in tears right now. But he's not, so he won't. Instead, he'll vent the best way he knows how with me. Physical contact.

Because of my mentor's hard-to-deal nature and introverted personality, and my quasi-good ability to read him, I know just by how his hands move on my body how he's feeling, and just the slightest tremble of his breath on my neck tells me what he wants to say but can't. So rather than push him away and protest against his lewd conduct, I wrap my arms around his neck and let him do what he wants, let him reclaim the body he lost that night, let him heal the wounds he could do nothing to prevent.

And in hopes that he'll understand, I whisper to him the one thing that helped me move on when I was at my lowest point as a child, weeping over the loss of my parents.

"Forgiving yourself is always harder than forgiving someone else. Apologize to you first, then once you accept your apology, you can try saying sorry to someone else."

The words are meant just as much for me as they are for Usagi, who goes still for a moment before his affectionate kisses on my collarbone return, and the air suddenly doesn't feel so stiff anymore. I settle into the seat as comfortably as I can, ready to let this man help us both heal from my physical torment and the pain of the truth.

That's my story, and what a strange story it's been.

* * *

End Of Stories - to be continued in epilogue

* * *

AN: A lot of the reviews I got seemed pretty angry that Misaki didn't go to Akihiko with his problems in the first place, and I completely understand. But I tried to make it as clear in here as I could that I feel it's not something Misaki would do. He doesn't like to inconvenience people with his problems, and the issues he was dealt with would've made things very difficult for Akihiko (in Misaki's eyes), so he opted to stay silent. Yes, in truth Misaki _should've_ gone to Akihiko about it, and Akihiko could've easily dealt with Sakurabi, but Misaki didn't know that. He doesn't know all of Akihiko's tricks and how much power and influence he has in his own industry. At least, that's how I interpret it.

Even if everything I said is untrue, IT DROVE THE FANFICTION SO THERE! If everything were written as easily as the reviews said it should be, would that have made the story more interesting? Methinks not, my friends.

"Misaki Takahashi, I'm Ikuko Sakurabi. You're a whore. Stop sleeping with Akihiko Usami or I'll have to choke a bitch."  
"Hold on, lemme get my boyfriend."  
"S'up, Misaki?"  
"Usagi, dis bitch be trippin'."  
"Dis bitch?"  
"Dis bitch."  
"Hold my jacket."  
ONE HOUR LATER...  
"Hey, Misaki, I've got a new resource company. Also, Sakurabi is in jail."  
"Bawlin'!"  
THE END.

See what I mean?

Stay tuned for epilogue chapter.


End file.
